Beneath Eden
by Sorrel
Summary: Even underneath Paradise there is Hell. Wes-Angel, rated for some very mild sexual innuendo. There are strawberries.


Beneath Eden. Even underneath Paradise there is Hell.  
  
~*~  
  
He smiles into the mirror. His image smiles back, soft-edged and blurred, until he swipes his hand through the steam, and then his smile is bright and brittle. Brittle enough to crack, and where the cracks appear it is sharp, sharp enough to cut and raw enough to bleed. His smile fades and he stares deeply into the mirror image of his eyes. They seemed darker, somehow, and softer, but then he blinks and the illusion was gone, leaving only the razor edges of the smile he pastes brightly back onto his face.  
He hears a soft noise behind him and turns, slowly, his balance spread evenly and his weight shifted just a little onto the back foot. When he sees the man standing in the doorway he relaxes, easing out of the automatically defensive stance, and offers a smile to him- a real smile, with soft edges.  
Angel smiles back at him. "You've been locked up in here a while, and I was worried about you. You didn't look so good when you rushed out of there."  
He shuffles his feet a little, shrugs. "Sorry, it was... Nothing. Don't worry about it."  
Angel crosses the room slowly, cautiously, as if afraid to startle him. "Of course I'm gonna worry about it, Wes. It's you." He stretches out one hand, and when he presses his own palm into it Angel pulls him close.  
He leans against Angel's chest and rubs his cheeks against the muscle. "I'm just... tired. That's all."  
"I don't think that's all," Angel says, and his voice sounds even deeper than usual, rumbling in his chest underneath Wesley's ear. "But I'm not going to push or anything. You'll tell me when you're ready. Just know that I'm always here to listen, okay?"  
"Okay," he says with a sigh, and they stand there in a small pool of silence, just holding each other.  
  
~*~  
  
"Angel, you can eat it. It won't kill you. You're already dead."  
"I got enough of the vampire jokes today to last a friggin' century," Angel growls back. "And I don't want to eat it. I don't eat."  
"You do now. Open up."  
Angel stubbornly presses his lips tightly shut, and Wesley takes a moment to amuse himself at the image of a centuries-old vampire acting like a two-year-old refusing to eat spinach, or mushy peas.  
"Angel, one way or another you're going to eat this before you leave tonight. Do you really want to find out how I'm going to accomplish this is you don't open your mouth now?"  
Angel thinks about this for a long minute, then reluctantly opens his mouth. Wesley feeds him the spoonful of ice cream that he'd been holding, then watches in satisfaction as a look of awe appears on Angel's face when he lets the confection melt on his tongue.  
"That's... good," he says once he'd swallowed, and immediately a pleading look appears on his face. "More?"  
Wesley shakes his head, a little smirk on his face. "In a moment. I'm not done with you yet."  
While Angel watches with interest, Wesley takes out a bottle of chocolate syrup, followed by caramel, whipped cream, a jar of nuts, a little tin of sprinkles, and a banana. Angel is looking from the toppings to Wesley with a measuring look on his face, and Wesley says dryly, "Some other time, perhaps. Neither of us is going to be licking this off the other tonight. Well, at least not now," he amends when Angel looks at him sadly. Really, Angel could communicate almost as well with looks as he could with words. Perhaps better. "Just watch."  
Angel watches as Wesley slices the banana onto a bowl of ice cream, then covers it with the syrup, caramel, nuts, and sprinkles in quick succession, then squirts a liberal heap of whipped cream on top. Sticking a spoon into the sundae, he hands it to Angel. When the vampire looks at it dubiously, he says, "If you liked the ice cream you'll like this. Eat."  
Angel scoops up a small spoonful of the sundae and tentatively took a bite. Immediately a smile appears on his face, and Wesley watches in satisfaction as he digs into the rest of the bowl with relish.  
Once he is sure that Angel is settled with his sundae, he opens up the fridge again and rummages through, emerging triumphantly with a box of strawberries. A container of sugar and a small bowl follow from the cabinets, and the knife already sitting on the cutting board. He starts capping and quartering the strawberries, then pours some sugar into the bowl, all while Angel watches in a sort of confused fascination. It all comes together for him, though, when Wesley starts dipping the strawberries into the sugar and eating them, slowly, with a look of delight on his face.  
Angel sucks in a breath at the way the strawberries slices slide past Wesley's lips and the heavy-lidded look of enjoyment in his eyes. He clears his throat, and Wes looks at him, smiling slightly as if he knows exactly what is going through Angel's mind. Once he is sure that he has Wes's attention Angel slowly takes another bite of ice cream, licking the spoon casually when Wes's eyes look a little unfocused.  
They both stand there, slowly eating their desserts, while the single candle flame that lights the tiny kitchen gutters and spins in the breeze coming through the open window.  
  
~*~  
  
"Hey Wes," Cordelia hollers. "Get me a water from the fridge, will you?"  
"Yes of course, Cordelia," he yells back. "Because I'm your devoted slave."  
"Of course you are," she calls to him, then settles back on the couch, satisfied that her water will be fetched. And she didn't even have to guilt him into it by mentioning her post-vision headache. She has them all so well trained.  
Wesley mutters to himself as he picks his way past the piles of books covering the floor on his way to the fridge. He almost trips over one and adds a string of mental curses to his muttering, not wanting to disturb the rather precise order of the tomes, because he's spent hours today alone putting them there. And he has a rather bad headache himself- just because Cordelia won't tell him doesn't mean he doesn't know- and he's tired.  
He makes his way to the fridge and eases the door open carefully, not wanting to knock over the pile of books that's sitting right in front of the door. He starts to grab the water out of the door, where it always is, but then he sees something sitting on the bottom shelf and stops.  
It's a small box of strawberries, with a single red rose on top of it. He takes the rose out and runs his fingers down the smooth stem, and smiles.  
  
~*~  
  
He's standing in front of the mirror again, seeing the knife-sharp edges in his smile. But this time the softness in his eyes doesn't go away when he blinks, and he turns away from the mirror with a somewhat happier smile than before.  
Hell's always waiting, even when it's just inside his own head. But for now he'll enjoy the Paradise that he's made for himself.  
He walks away whistling. 


End file.
